


John Calhoun Could Never Write a Love Poem

by fauxilya



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coffee, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Jealousy, Love Letters, Love Poems, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romcom Cliche, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxilya/pseuds/fauxilya
Summary: Roses are red, violets are blue; whereas you are an annoying little shit, I’m in love with you.If he took half the time he wasted on these pathetic love notes and spent it doing something remotely productive, he could’ve written the Federalist Papers by now.————Based on this quote from the Great Triumvirate:...Intensely serious and severe, he could never write a love poem, though he often tried, because every line began with "whereas"
Relationships: Henry Clay/John C. Calhoun
Kudos: 3





	John Calhoun Could Never Write a Love Poem

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a one-shot but i got carried away.  
> Anyways i hope y'all enjoy whatever this is  
> Also i cut the age difference between John and Floride to four years. It's not a big part of the fic, just thought i should let you know.

~~_Roses are red, violets are blue; whereas you are an annoying little shit, I’m in love with you._ ~~

That wouldn’t work, frowned Calhoun as he tore the page off his notebook, crumpled it, and pelted the paper ball at the growing pile of failed attempts in the corner of his desk. Determined not to spare another glance at the cause of his misery, he cradled his head with his hands and let out a deep sigh. If he took half the time he wasted on these pathetic love notes and spent it instead doing something remotely productive, he could’ve written _the Federalist Papers_ by now.

There was a banging at his door. Calhoun’s frown immediately transformed into a scowl. Of course his cousin would choose this moment to come in and violate his privacy.

Getting up from his seat with a grump, he padded across the room to pull open the door—a gesture a little ruder than his mother would be content with, but neither had she any enthusiasm about his heavy metal collection or those books about the Civil War he read over summer, or anything he bought for interest, apparently.

“What have you left in my room this time?” Calhoun snapped, narrowing his eyes at the brunette who was almost knocking his door off its frame not too long ago. At twelve-year-old, his cousin was without a doubt the human incarnation of irritation.(“Irritability, “ he once overheard Quincy Adams argue when a certain someone brought up the word. It was not like anyone cared about Adam’s opinion, though.) A true gremlin, dressed in pink and pastel blue, but no less feral.

Said gremlin obviously decided to, again, ignore the warning in his voice when she shouldered past him without a care. Before he could grab her wrist and drag her out—he hardly had the intention to do so, though, he tended to act more gentlemanly towards girls, southern manners and all that—Floride strode into the middle of the room, her hands coming to rest at her hips.

“Get out, Flo, you saw the sign on the door.” Calhoun said, hating the defeat in his voice.

“I can’t read,” Floride chirped cheerfully, taking her good time scanning the room.

“That meme is _terrible_ ,” he grumbled under his breath, “you know what I mean. I have things to do. Grab what you need and get out.”

“ _Maybe_ I just want to pay my hermit cousin brother a visit and see what he’s up to.” Flo plopped down on his bed, grabbing a nearby book off its shelf. “You’ve read _Pride and Prejudice_? Hmm, I know worse taste in literature. ” she trailed off, humming her approval.

“I don’t,” Calhoun said through his teeth, “I picked it up from the library for a... a _friend_.”

“Oh, sure you did.” Floride remarked, not lifting her gaze from the book. “Just go ask him out, it’s not that difficult. At this rate, you’d be depleting the Amazon Forest in a year. ”

“You don’t get a say in my love life.”

“It’s not like you have one, my dear Johnny.” She snorted, flipping a page. “Seriously, though, I’m gonna ring this guy up if you don’t take action soon. I’m bone tired of your pathetic pining, Jo. ”

“You don’t have his number, smartass.”

“I’m friends with Peggy who’s friends with Rachel who’s friends with Lucretia who lives next door to your crush, in case you forgot.” She raised her head now, grinning.

Calhoun groaned. “Anything else I can do to get you off my back?”

Floride dropped the book in triumph and high-fived herself in the air. “Well, you can con—“ she quickly bit her tongue as the daggers in Calhoun’s glare landed on her face, “here. You ask him out on a coffee, I take over your job and clean the dishes for a week. Else you do my algebra homework for a month. Do we have a deal?”

“I would die sooner than touching Algebra with a ten feet pole—“

“Well, ask him out then. I gave you a choice.” She shrugged, then hopped off Calhoun’s bed and breezed past him to the door, carrying him copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ with her. “My matter here is done. Remember our deal, or I’m telling Auntie about that one time you went to a party—”

“Don’t you dare, Floride Bonneau Colhoun!” He yelled after his cousin, slamming the door shut, knowing she was too far and absorbed in her victory to hear his threat. Great. Flo had a real gift for bending everything to her will.

Calhoun returned to his desk and swept the pile of paper balls onto the floor with awhoosh of his hand.

He really didn’t need to be reminded of _that party_ at this point.

* * *

_Calhoun wasn’t a party-goer in any sense. That was why he was currently seated in the corner, lemonade in hand(it was a miracle that this kind of beverage was served at a party filled with crazy high school kids), his phone in another. He could’ve stayed home and spent this Saturday night like any other—studying, how otherwise would he be qualified for Yale College, his dream school—but this time it was simply impossible for him to have said no. No one said no to Henry Clay; that was the missing Newton’s law#4. Henry Clay, who one day honored Calhoun with his presence after class and invited him to go, with that stupid, lopsided grin practically lighting up his whole face._

_They barely talked these days, apart from in the Debate Club and in AP Government & Politics; in fact, they’d been keeping the contact to a minimum ever since that grand fallout a month ago. Mostly on Calhoun’s side, though. Clay never understood the full reason behind their quarrel, and for now it was best to keep it that way._

_So that was why he was here, grumpy and totally lost about what else to do than scrolling aimlessly through his phone, screaming at himself for ever considering Clay’s proposition, and trying to avert his stare on said boy himself._

_The blond was sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by an swooning ring of fangirls at whom he smiled as they kissed his cheeks, and several boys that tagged along. Among those guys, he could see Hayne and Webster, slightly flushed due to the alcohol, who stalked behind Clay like bodyguards. If you told last-semester Calhoun that Henry Clay would be tolerating Daniel Webster, that damned northerner, in his friend circle, he would’ve laughed out loud right then._

_He huffed and grinds his teeth, tightening his grip on the phone._ It’s okay. He doesn’t need these people. He doesn’t need friends, especially not _Clay, that popular kid stereotype with nothing but charm and a demented brain—no matter how good he was a debater, or how he used to stay on phone with Calhoun until small hours on those nights the latter couldn’t fall asleep. He’s just fine by himself._

_More and more began to join Clay’s cult, like moths attracted to fire, flying towards the golden boy from all corners of the room. After a bit of commotion, the group seemed to have decided on a game and set about to play it as everyone found their place in a circle and a bottle was placed in the middle._

_Oh no. Calhoun had a bad feeling about this. It was one thing to hear about it from others(read: Clay, and occasionally Webster, when he felt like pissing Calhoun off), but it was another to witness the long-timed tradition among the seniors with his own eyes. To add fuel to the fire, he knew by instinct who the girls, and possibly even some boys, would be praying that their bottle land on, and frankly who was he to blame them for wanting that? Clay sat there in his full glory, his blonde curls a halo around his head, eyes rendered an even deeper blue by the alcohol in his system and the low, addictive lighting of the living room, lips turned up in his signature grin._

_And then, all out of a sudden—those eyes were fixed directly on him. His first reaction was to flinch back, trying to make himself as invisible as one might. He’d probably look away soon, Calhoun consoled himself while burying himself amidst the shadow casted by the wall._

_“John! Come and do a round with us!” Hell_ no _. “Promise it’d be fun!”_

_Calhoun knew Clay was tipsy, but he didn’t expect him to actually be smashed enough to forget about the still-bleeding gap in their friendship, however temporarily. But he wasn’t his ten-year-old self anymore, and he knew that a party with his classmates wouldn’t be a good place to shout “I hate you please get away from me leave me alone” in the face of his...frenemy. So he gave the other a firm shake of his head, and snuggled further into his non-existent hoodie.(Today just had to be the laundry day, leaving him with no comfort clothes to wear to stressful situations like a party. He did his best to find a shirt whose material was soft enough to make him feel some semblance to security)._

_“Come on, don’t be a spoilsport, John!” why were those ocean eyes still on him? Clay was still urging him forward, even extending his hand in invitation. “Look—we’re not starting the game until you play, too. No one should be excluded from fun.”_

_There was a murmuring in the crowd; mostly insidious, judging by the sour expressions some displayed on their face. It was a good time, now, to bring back Newton’s missing law#4 and #5, which was to never decline an offer from Henry Clay and to never ruin your high school experience by declining an offer from Henry Clay and consequently enraging his crowd of followers._

_After a split moment of contemplation, Calhoun made his decision. Newton’s laws, especially those that were originally missing, were not to be ignored. He got up from his spot, his legs tensing for a moment at the sudden blood flow, and crossed the room to where the majority gathered. Before he could struggle more with his fight or flight response, Clay noticed his presence, clapped him on the back, and pulled him into the circle—right next to him._

_Calhoun wished he wasn’t that much of a blusher. Or at least the lighting would do its magic on him, too, and make him appear completely unflustered by this move. His religious belief was known to only himself, a weird combination of mostly Calvinism and some other branches of Christianity due to his upbringing, but now Calhoun was praying to every form of god he knew that Clay couldn’t see his reaction to this simple action._

_He would’ve been less excited if he had the wit to foresee the whole ordeal he was to go through sitting next to Henry Clay, said ordeal commencing with the first turn or the bottle. A girl with heavy make-up, who was designated to spin this round, couldn’t have been more evident when she nudged the bottle with her foot—towards the lucky fellow sitting to Calhoun’s right. Of course._

_A series of giggles escaped her throat, before the girl was starting to make her climb over and..._

_“You cheated. You moved it with your foot.”_

_“Why would you care?” The girl rolled her eyes, dismissive, “oh, I forgot. You are the nerd. Killjoy.”_

_Beside Calhoun, Clay only mmphed in agreement._

_Calhoun closed his eyes, but an image was already swelling and filling his head. He wanted to grab Clay by the collar and shake the alcohol out of him, just so that he would have sense enough to put a stop to the venturing kisses the girl was peppering on his chin and—_

_“Alright, I think that’s enough.” Said Clay, who was detectably a bit dazed, pushing the girl off him. She was noticeably slow in leaving Clay’s lap, appearing as thrown off her feet, a mesmerized look in her eyes. Calhoun wished he could sleep soundly for the rest of his life without thinking about those red, kiss-swollen lips, and that he would punch them in a blink._

_The game went around for a while; a few people came forward to claim their kisses from the charmer, but most had the decency to only peck him on the cheek or kiss his hand. Calhoun was almost settling into a blissful oblivion when he heard his name called._

_“It’s your turn, nerd.” Someone from the other side of the circle called, presumably a friend of the girl from before. At this point Calhoun didn’t even have the heart to inquire as to where they’d learnt his name; his head was launched into a panicking mess, resounding sirens and glaring red lights all around within. He was really doing this stupid game. For some stupid Newton law #4._

_He would say that he didn’t hold at least a smattering of hope that his bottle would land on that particular someone, but as it turned out, the Nile wasn’t just a river in Africa._

_So he picked the ugly green bottle up, took a sip, then set it down to spin._

_His first kiss. Soon to be lost to a stranger in_ _a silly high school drinking game. What had he done with his life?_

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading The True Henry Clay which was like a 19th Century ao3 fanfic and you'd be shOOK to know that more than half of this fic came from actual historical events the book claimed to have happened, including:  
> \- John Calhoun once went to a party which Henry Clay attended too  
> \- kissing games were popular at that time and girls were literally fighting to kiss Clay  
> \- Calhoun got jealous over his success with women  
> And some more that I would cite in the later chapters.  
> English is not my mother language so im sorry for the errors. I just want more clayhoun and when i cant get more content i have to write it myself. Even if I'm a rlly shitty writer. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @dys-tella


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